Melancholy Slumber
by Rose-Rainbow
Summary: Syaoran sleeps, and Syaoran dreams. C!Syaoran/R!Syaoran, pre-Acid Tokyo


**Fandom:** Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicle

**Title:** Melancholy Slumber

**Author:** burnt_sun ( LiveJournal in 2011) / Rose-Rainbow ( )

**Rating:** PG-13

**Words:** 2332 words

**Summary:** Syaoran sleeps, and Syaoran dreams. SyaoSyao

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicles, CLAMP does.

Sleep is comforting, a time for the body to relax and regain energy lost during the day. The darkness behind closed eyes is as soothing as a familiar heartbeat, the tranquility in the night as soothing as water.

Syaoran knows that he is sleeping, that his eyes are closed, covering his tired coffee brown eyes, and he's covered in sheets, surrounded by the night's dark embrace, his body relaxed in peaceful slumber.

For now, there is only darkness. Simple, bleak darkness that surrounds his dreaming mind. It isn't comforting, but it's as well-known as a dreamless sleep, which is better than a slumber full of nightmares, and therefore tolerated, if not accepted.

It doesn't happen all at once, but slowly, like the dawn sunlight slowly flickering to life and chasing away the black shadows that rule the night. It's an almost painfully slow process, but it's still happening, and it's better than not dreaming. His surroundings slowly take form, changing bit by bit from the darkness surrounding his sleeping consciousness and morphing into a more familiar setting.

The room is familiar, and he knows he's seen it before. This is that boy's room, and Syaoran searches for him with sharp amber eyes. He watches as the shadowy blackness melts away into something more recognizable, becoming less opaque, and...

There he is, floating inside his watery prison, bubbles swirling around him like pale flower petals, body encased in water and trapped behind transparent glass.

The familiarity he feels when seeing this boy is almost comforting, like when he looks into a mirror and sees his own reflection. Almost. At least when he looks in a mirror he knows it's himself staring back at him. He knows nothing about this boy, a stranger with an appearance similar to his own.

The boy barely looks older than nine or ten, so young. Syaoran studies him, searching the boy's body to try and find any differences between them. He realizes that this boy is all slender curves of muscle and pale skin, his silky brown hair floating languidly around him. He looks just like him, Syaoran notes, only smaller, and looks so much more helpless, trapped behind this thick glass and held imprisoned underwater.

The boy is wearing an eye patch over his left eye, black cloth firmly pressed to his pale skin. Syaoran wants to know what's underneath it, and his fingers itch to reach around the boy and untie the knot that holds the black fabric to his face. And maybe let his fingers brush against the boy's neck as he pulls the patch away from his eye, to see if that pale skin is as soft as his own - or maybe softer.

The crimson designs that trail down the boy's arms and legs look like tattoos, such a vivid red they look as if could burn. And as Syaoran studies them, eyes raking down the boy's slender limbs, he notices the boy is barefoot and that he can see his delicate feet hanging limply underneath his unmoving form.

Syaoran feels for the boy, sympathy churning softly in his chest like a spinning pinwheel. The words he wants to say, (_but can't_,) gather in the back of his throat and amass in his dry mouth.

How long has this boy been trapped behind this glass, imprisoned and hidden away from the world? Kept in the cold sanctity of solitude and denied the soothing comfort of other humans. He looks lonely, floating all alone in this large room, being the only living thing for who knows how far.

_Who are you?... Where did you come from?... How long have you been imprisoned here?..._ The questions are unspoken, but his curiosity is still strong, demanding to be sated. He wants answers that only this young boy can give.

Syaoran wants to know if this boy will ever awaken. If he'll ever know anything beyond the shadowy shade of black from the back of his closed eyelids, if he'll ever be able to find his way out of the bleakness of unconsciousness...

He takes a step closer to the boy's watery prison, and holds his breath, waiting, anticipating, as if his movement will wake the sleeping child. But nothing happened, the boy didn't even twitch. Letting out the breath he was holding in the form of a disappointed sigh, Syaoran glances at the sleeping boy and begins walking towards him, moving closer and diminishing the distance between them.

Thoughts swirl through his mind like a flurry of snowflakes, glittering with temptation and daring to be examined by curious amber eyes. His steps are soft and quiet, he walks as light as a cat, and yet the quietness makes the echoes that resound through the quiet room seem that much louder. His amber eyes, bright as a coin, stare seriously at the smaller boy in front of him, unable - unwilling - to look away. The boy didn't even twitch as he neared, remaining as still as Syaoran's unwavering gaze.

He stops, standing in front of the tank like a lost child, and wonders what he should do next. Whispers float through his mind like bubbles, light and noticeable, but so hard to capture. He can't stop staring at the boy, feeling both tranquil and uneasy.

Wistfulness, sweet and aching, burns faintly in his chest like a delicate spark igniting into a tiny flame. Not exactly painful, but still uncomfortably warm. As bittersweet as dark chocolate, the emotion lingers like the sensation of a gentle caress even after it has been removed.

It's on the tip of his tongue, ready to unfurl from his lips and spread sound, like a butterfly just hatching from its chrysalis. It would be so easy to say what he wants, murmur soft words of gentle assurance, and give what comfort he could. Softly, like the soft brush of a silky wing, a thought grazes his mind. But not so much a thought as a whimsical desire, and a feeling of gentle satisfaction at being close to this boy.

He can't help but feel something for this boy who looks exactly like him, like a friendly affection that curls tightly as a vine around his heart. It's as faint as a whisper when the boy isn't around, when he isn't dreaming of him, like a precious jewel hidden under partially murky water. But when the boy's near and he dreams of him, the affection is soft and noticeable. It's in the increase of his steady heartbeat and the gnawing, anticipatory excitement coursing through him.

They're so close, and yet that one step remaining between them bothers him, and Syaoran realizes that he wants to make even that tiny gap between them disappear. To be as close as he can to the other boy. The urge to do so is almost undeniable, and Syaoran is only able to resist for a few seconds before slowly, perhaps a bit hesitantly, taking the final step forward and closing the rest of the distance between them.

The transparent glass is so close he can feel the refreshing coolness radiating from the clear surface. His face is so near that his breath is frosting against the clear, unblemished glass like an icy caress. He can see his own reflection staring back at him from the glass, amber eyes darkened by anticipation, a strange combination of adrenaline and something more intense.

Syaoran moves his gaze from his reflection to the smaller boy, still sleeping and unmoving. Syaoran can't take his eyes off of him, even his sightless right eye is transfixed. For a faint moment, he wonders why, and then dismisses the thought as unimportant.

He leans in close, his larger, slender body pressing up against the glass, cool as crystal against his forehead and bare skin, the cold chill seeping through his clothing, his breath frosting like mist across the slick smoothness of its surface. His forehead is just inches above the boy's unruly coffee brown hair, floating languidly like a stretching cat. He breathes in a sharp breath as he realizes that if the boy were outside his prison, out in the open where Syaoran could talk and interact with him, then his chin would be resting atop the boy's head.

He feels his heartbeat quicken, adrenaline coursing through his body, and Syaoran closes his darkened amber eyes, trying to steady his somewhat ragged breathing before opening them to stare at the boy through lowered lashes. He presses his forehead deeper against the glass, his slender nose almost nuzzling it, soft lips coming closer to the frosted mist his breathing created on the cool surface. His eyes slide closed again, not wanting to see his own reflection staring back at him from the transparent glass, his own heated amber eyes staring back at him.

Syaoran's soft lips touch the glass, a delicate, wistful kiss that explains what he can't with words. He knows that when he pulls away his lips will leave imprints on the misted surface, but he doesn't pull away just yet. The refreshing coolness of the glass on the suddenly warm skin of his forehead and soft lips, the furious beating of his heart in his chest, the warmth that spreads through his body and the contentment that he feels at being so close to this boy who shares his appearance, makes Syaoran want to linger for just a few seconds longer.

So he does. Lingers like a whisper in silence, his skin and clothes pressed against the refreshing coolness of the boy's watery prison. He feels content, as if he could wait here for days without moving. The way the icy chill of the glass mixes with the warmth of his body is an amazing sensation, as delicious as a taste of silky milk chocolate. For one brief moment, Syaoran presses himself closer, letting all of his weight lean against the boy's watery prison.

And then he pulls his head away, his eyes slowly fluttering open to peer with softened amber eyes through his feathery lashes to catch sight of the young boy, still limp and unresponsive inside his prison. He wonders if the boy knows that he just kissed the glass where the top of his head was. The realization would have made Syaoran blush in embarrassment, and maybe he will later if he remembers this dream.

Syaoran feels warm all over, his breathing is erratic and his heartbeat is still quick. When he catches sight of his reflection in the glass, finally removing them from the sleeping boy, Syaoran sees the effect his actions have in his darkened amber eyes, and the emotion lurking within them that he doesn't really want to think about too much.

As his heartbeat slows to normal, Syaoran reaches up and touches his lips, remembering the refreshing sensation of cool glass pressed against them, feeling the lingering coolness that still remains on his soft lips like the final icy chill of a winter wind.

Moving his gaze back to the child, he studies him through amber eyes, wanting to avoid his reflection and his own darkened eyes as much as possible. The fingers in the child's right hand twitch faintly, only once, and then the boy is back to being limp and unmoving, as if that one little movement stole all of his energy.

More questions pour through Syaoran's mind like honeyed poison, dangerous and yet too sweet to ignore the temptation of tasting. Does the boy know what he did? Is he still conscious even though he looks asleep?

It's then that Syaoran feels it, the persistent tug of his dreaming self being pulled from its dream. He can feel his consciousness slowly start to stir, and knows he has little time left to spend in this dream.

Syaoran smiles faintly. There's a wistfulness in his eyes, the subtle looseness in his posture, a melancholy curve to his lips. Whether or not he'll see this child again is uncertain, and yet Syaoran knows that he wants to. But the future as fickle as the whims of nature. It's unpredictable, able to change course as suddenly as a summer breeze. Syaoran wonders if this boy will ever wake up, but that's also something that only can be found out by waiting. He has things to do - feathers of the princess's memory to collect and a sword to master - to occupy his time until that possible day might come.

Slowly he reaches out with his fingertips to touch the sleek glass of the boy's prison, wanting at least one last touch before he wakes up. But he doesn't get to have that one last touch. Just as his fingertips are about to touch the glass, the tugging of his conscious mind becomes more insistent, and he knows his dream is about to end.

And then Syaoran awakens, his body tangled within the sheets, his amber eyes dark with something more than a need for sleep. He still feels that wild restlessness coursing through him like fire as he sinks down into the familiar comfort of his bed, feeling the softness of the mattress and its sheets surround him like the gentle caress of water.

Dreaming a dream that shouldn't have been dreamt, Syaoran muses lightly, tasting the blurred edges of consciousness that so often rules the mind after awakening from a deep sleep, trying to remember what his mind had just dreamed.

He finds it strange that he can only remember certain parts, that when he tries to think back and reminisce, he can only remember blackness fading into a familiar room and a young boy with an appearance similar to his own and a strange sensation of refreshing coolness.

And if Syaoran spends perhaps a couple of seconds longer studying his reflection in the mirror than normal, if he spends his nights trying to recall a half-remembered dream that plays hide and seek with his memory before falling asleep, then what of it?

**Author's Notes: **I tried for sexy when it came to the kiss, without the actual act of sex being involved, but I'm not really sure I managed it. Oh, well. Key words there are "I tried."

Reviews are welcome, encouraged, and appreciated; constructive criticism even more so.


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